


Entertain

by voxangelus



Series: If Greg's Office Walls Could Talk [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dom Greg, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Office Sex, anthea's a switch, fight me, mycroft is a power bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3931984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxangelus/pseuds/voxangelus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Mycroft stuck in a meeting, Anthea entertains Greg for the evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entertain

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely redscudery for the beta job!

In truth, Anthea had been annoyed a fortnight ago when Mycroft had clambered into the car, a smug and satisfied grin on his face. Nobody ought to look that pleased after dealing with Scotland Yard, which meant he’d just got up to something. She’d hoped at the time it’d been something with DCI Lestrade, and had been pleased to learn later that evening she had been right. Frankly, she’d been getting tired of hearing Mycroft talk about the man in bed, even if some of the fantasies he spun were downright fantastic. 

“Your tie is just slightly askew, sir,” she’d said, barely glancing up from her phone. His tie was perfect, of course - but the brief expression of terror on his face as he’d glanced down and made a minute adjustment had been worth it. 

 

Now she was in the same car headed back to NSY. Mycroft had an assignation planned with the dishy DCI, and he was caught up in negotiations he couldn’t abandon. Apparently a text or phone call to Lestrade was out of the question; she was to deliver a handwritten note and then offer to entertain him in Mycroft’s stead. He’d made it officially clear as her supposed employer that the method of entertainment was entirely at her discretion. His eyebrow raise and double-tap of her ring meant something else entirely. Well. For one of them to take an outside lover was nothing new. To share one, however, had only happened once previously - and not in an ongoing fashion. Mycroft must be pretty confident in his estimation of Lestrade’s sensibilities regarding non-monogamy.

Mycroft had been carrying a torch for DCI Lestrade for some time, and Anthea was pleased he’d finally done something about it - and she’d enjoyed hearing about it later that night. More than enjoyed. 

The car had arrived as she was woolgathering and she clambered out, note in hand. It was almost six, and while the building wasn’t quiet, it was less hectic than it would have been a few hours earlier. She flashed her badge at the security officer and headed to the lift. Moments later, she stood in the doorway of Lestrade’s office and watched him work for a minute, behind a truly intimidating stack of paperwork. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he’d discarded his tie.

She cleared her throat. “Good evening, DCI Lestrade. I’m afraid I have a message from Mr Holmes.” 

Greg looked up and sighed. Anthea thought it ought to be illegal for such a hangdog look to appear on that handsome face. He looked utterly devastated. “Something came up?” 

Anthea stepped forward and held out the note. “Negotiations that he cannot possibly abandon. He refused to text or email you; nothing but a handwritten message couriered by yours truly would suffice. Between you and me, I think he was quite upset.”  
He took the note, opened it, and scanned it, eyes flicking up at her with a hum of surprise. Excellent. She had no idea what Mycroft had actually written, but it must have been good. “I’ve been instructed to entertain you, should you wish it.” 

 

“He’s suggested I take you to dinner, and then back to his - specifically, to his bed - and he’d join us as soon as he could,” Greg said, letting the note flutter from his fingers to the floor. 

“If you don’t object to the idea,” she replied. 

“No objection, I’m just surprised. Mycroft doesn’t seem like the type to share, but appearances can be deceiving.”

“Monogamy and legal commitment are next to impossible in our line of work,” Anthea said, shrugging her shoulders. He and I have an understanding, but we also enjoy other people as circumstances allow. It’s been some time since we had a shared partner, but the last one didn’t have any complaints,” she said. 

“I gotta admit - I was hoping for more of an actual relationship with him,” Greg said, a bit forlorn. 

“I’m confused as to why you think that isn’t an option. He hardly sends me to casual partners with handwritten notes. He’d like that as well. So would I - but that’s up to you,” Anthea replied, closing the office door and sitting on the corner of his desk, crossing her ankles demurely. She watched as he sat back in his chair, studying her for a moment. 

“So, you and Mycroft are in a committed polyamorous relationship. He’s interested in also having a romantic and sexual relationship with me - which is great, because I want that. A lot. So what about you? Just sex?” 

She grinned. “I’ve got no objection to just sex - have you seen yourself? - but I’d have to get to know you better before deciding if I’d like more than that,” she replied. 

“Fair enough,” Greg murmured, holding a hand out to her. “I believe I’m ready to be entertained.”

The way he said it sent shivers down her spine. Mycroft hadn’t been kidding when he told her about Greg’s almost effortless dominant mien. Oh, Mycroft had admitted to leading him there when he had told the tale, but once in the situation, he had said Greg had taken over in a no-nonsense fashion. She took the proffered hand and let him settle her on his lap. 

“The both of you are so bloody untouchable, never even gave either of you more than a passing thought,” Greg murmured, nuzzling behind her ear and making her shiver. “But that’s not the case, is it? All an act, a part you play because you must.” 

“Mmm. Yes. Well. Everyone has needs,” she agreed, tilting her head to the side to bare her neck to his lips. 

“If you’re still putting together coherent sentences, I’m not doing a very good job,” he whispered into her ear. 

“I’m dedicated to keeping cool under pressure, DCI Lestrade,” she replied, tracing along the lapel of his jacket with her neatly manicured fingertips. The unbuttoned shirt collar and lack of a tie was a change of pace from Mycroft’s buttoned-up work attire, although no less enjoyable. 

“It’s Greg,” he muttered, pressing a line of kisses to her jawline, his big warm hands resting on her lower back and her thigh.

God, the man was bloody prescient in how he knew right where she wanted to be kissed. She couldn’t wait to get between him and Mycroft. Anthea squirmed, pressing her thighs together with a quiet moan as she thought of the two of them working in tandem; one rough, one refined. Then Greg claimed her lips and brought her back to the present moment. She surrendered, flinging her arms around his shoulders and holding on for dear life as he skillfully plundered her mouth. 

He pulled back after a few heated moments, breathing heavily. “I think we’d better stop there if you want to go to dinner anytime soon,” he said, running his hand along her leg. 

Anthea shook her head, kissing him again. “It’s ridiculous how not-hungry I am,” she murmured against his lips. 

“All I can think about is Mycroft on his knees in this office with your cock down his throat,” she continued. Greg groaned, fingers tightening on her leg. “Oh yes, he told me all about it - that’s one of our rules. I was leaning against him in the bath, all wet and warm. He fingered me and I came three times before he was finished with the story.” 

“And then what?” Greg asked, his voice low, scraping his teeth lightly down her neck. She could sense him holding back, and that was absolutely not on.

“Mmm, and then I fucked him over the bathroom counter with a strap-on,” she whispered into Greg’s ear. She wondered what sort of power Greg could wield if he were actually trying. She took his hand and helped him slide the hem of her skirt up her thigh, revealing the top of her stocking and the clip of her garter belt. 

“Do you always wear such fancy underthings?” he asked, stroking the soft, bare skin of her upper thigh. 

“Mycroft keeps buying them, so I keep wearing them,” she replied tartly, pulling her skirt back down. 

“None of that, miss. Did I say I didn’t like it?” 

Anthea laughed. He was precious, calling her miss and thinking what he thought about her knickers mattered. “Even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter - because I like my ‘fancy underthings’ and I’m the one who wears them.” At least, it didn’t matter right now. 

“Tell me, are we going to spend the evening in flirty banter, or are you going to bend me over your desk like you so clearly want to? I would like to get dinner eventually.”

“I thought you weren’t hungry?” Greg inquired, teasing. 

“There’s hungry and then there’s hungry,” Anthea replied as she shimmied off of his lap.

“And I’m starving no matter which way you put it,” Greg growled. He stood and pressed her front against the desk, clasping her wrists in the small of her back. 

Anthea moaned, pushing her body back into his. It was more than a little humbling how quickly he’d gotten her to cede control by crowding into her space and a little frightening at how willing she’d been to surrender. Bad protocol, but he was trustworthy enough for Mycroft - and Anthea trusted him implicitly. 

“When we go back to Mycroft’s after dinner, I’m going to peel every stitch of clothing from your body, piece by piece,” Greg murmured into her ear. 

“But for now, I just need this skirt out of the way.” He slid his free hand down her arse, grasping it and squeezing lightly. 

“Jesus. How does Mycroft get a damned thing done, knowing this is within reach all day?” 

She didn’t bother answering. It was clearly a rhetorical question and she was tired of talking. She ground back against him, rubbing her arse over the bulge in his trousers. 

Greg gave her wrists a squeeze and released them, reaching around her to sweep some of the paperwork out of the way. “Face down on the desk, there’s a good girl,” he directed, pressing between her shoulderblades. 

“Yes, Greg,” she replied, widening her stance just a bit, compliantly. 

He pushed her skirt up over her hips with a rough motion, and Anthea gasped as the cool air of the room hit her skin, and his large, warm hands followed. He kneaded her arse over the over the smooth satin of her knickers, then stroked his fingers down between her thighs. She bit her lip as he rubbed her through the damp material.

“Legs a little further apart,” he murmured, fingers delving under the edges of her knickers. “You’re very wet - the negotiation is part of the fun for you, isn’t it?” 

Anthea squirmed, making a quiet noise of assent as she sought more contact with Greg’s fingertips. She loved his self-assured handling and she wanted more. She grabbed for her purse at the edge of the desk, pulling out a little round tin. “Condoms,” she said, handing them back to him. 

He had one out quickly and rolled on as soon as he’d gotten his trousers unfastened and shoved down. “Knickers off or pushed aside?” 

Oh God, who the hell cared? “Don’t care, just fuck me,” she begged. 

He groaned, tugged the knickers aside, and pushed into her in a slow, sweet slide. 

“Fuck, yes,” she murmured on an exhale. She’d enjoy this again later with far fewer clothes between them, but for a now the only thing better would have been riding him in his chair. Another time, perhaps. 

Greg rocked his hips back and she gasped. He wasn’t as long as Mycroft, but he was a good deal thicker. She was going to be very pleasantly sore later and she shivered with delight at the thought. 

“Good?” he asked, pausing a moment. 

Good? Try fucking incredible. “God yes. Move, please.” 

He laughed, grasped her hips, and pulled her back onto him. “Like that?” 

She nodded, breathless. He rolled his hips lazily, teasing, and Anthea squirmed, trying to rock back against him. God, what a bloody tease he was - and she loved every last second of it. “Greg, please,” she begged, “fuck me harder.” 

He snapped his hips forward and up, hitting her g-spot. She moaned, rocking back to meet him - but he clapped his hand over her mouth, still moving in her. 

“Hush. The cleaning crew will be along soon and you don’t want them to hear anything and come in to investigate. What will they think, hmm?” 

She nipped at his palm and circled her hips with each of his thrusts, the thought of getting caught in the act even more thrilling. Jesus. She was going to come just from Greg’s cock and the buildup to it all - and that didn’t happen very often. Mycroft was going to be green with envy and probably demand to find out if Greg was just as good at hitting a prostate with his fat cock. Now that was a thought to consider. She clenched around him deliberately, inner muscles rippling. 

Greg hissed, tightening his grip on her hip. “Oh, this is absolutely going to work,” he gasped. 

She whined into his hand, every thrust bringing her closer to her peak. Her legs started to shake in her stilettos and she was happy she was sprawled over the desk. 

He leaned down and bit at her pulse point and _fuck_ , that was all it took for her to tumble over the edge into a powerful orgasm, moaning into his hand. Everything went fuzzy for a moment and then Greg was groaning profane praises into her ear, hips jerking erratically. 

“Fuuuuck,” he murmured, catching his breath for a moment before carefully pulling out of her. He disposed of the condom before sinking into his chair.

Anthea smirked to herself, straightening up and turning around to face him. He looked blissed out and quite properly shagged. She reached for her mobile and snapped a picture, texting it to Mycroft. She straightened her knickers and skirt and grinned at him. 

“If sir would like to gather his things, the dinner hour will begin shortly.”

**Author's Note:**

> There will be at least one more fic in this Greg/Mycroft/Anthea series.


End file.
